Robots, Weed, and Sex Dolls: A Weekend At The Movies

With my recent busy schedule of being a nerd in the evenings, I haven’t had much time to enjoy the carnal pleasures of my lady Tivo, or watch any of the three Netflix movies gathering dust on the coffee table. In fact, the only TV-watching I manage to squeeze in during the week is a measly 30 minutes from 6 to 6:30 when Brad & I shovel down our dinner before heading out to the theatre. And – for your entertainment, and at the expense of our dignity – I will now share with you the horridly embarrassing program we choose to spend those precious 30 minutes viewing:

Let he who is without the WB cast the first stone!

IN OUR DEFENSE: There is NOTHING on from 6 to 6:30, and we are watching the little TV in the kitchen that does not get any movie channels and isn’t connected to the Tivo, and…and…oh, fuck it. THAT SHOW IS FUNNY SOMETIMES, OK?!

Whew. Much better now.

And sorry, Brad, for ruining any little bit of street cred you may have had on this blog.

Anyhoo, this past weekend was full of cool, stormy weather, and it’s pretty much a law of nature that rainy weekends = sitting on your ass watching movies/Saved By The Bell marathons. So Brad & I took the opportunity to wear pajama pants (both of us) and forgo a bra (just me), snuggle up on the sofa with a bottle of wine, and catch up on our Netflix obligations.

First up on the Netflix docket: Super High Me

Arrived at the house in a Ziploc.

This movie is your basic twist on the Morgan Spurlock Super Size Me theme, except that you substitute Morgan Spurlock with comedian Doug Benson, McDonald’s food with marijuana, and shock at how much damage can be done to your body with Extra Value Meals with shock at how little damage can be done to your body with weed – with a side of surprise at how drastically it can increase sperm count.

Enjoys some kind bud.

I thought this was a pretty fun movie, and I was entertained throughout the whole thing. I also learned about the whole medical marijuana dispensary issue in California, and the fact that I didn’t know about it before made me feel both Old and Uncool, but you can bet your sweet ass that if I lived in California, I would be gettin’ me a prescription for that shit, pronto. And while this movie made me realize that “Stand-Up Comedian” is probably the only job besides “Pizza Delivery Driver” that you can pull off while smoking pot for 30 days straight, it also made me realize how stupid it is that marijuana isn’t just fucking legal already. Think about it: booze is legal. BOOZE. As in, the stuff that makes you think it’s perfectly fine to flirt with a man who has “NO FAT CHICKS” tattooed on his neck, eat three plates of cheese fries, vomit in a sink, pick a fight with a stranger because BITCH, WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM?, flash your boobs to passing cars, lose your purse, cry uncontrollably about how your boyfriend dumped you in high school and that’s why you can’t commit, leave an angry drunken message for your boss, forget to delete it, order another plate of cheese fries, ingest a shot called a Messy Blow Job, and then insist you are FINE, no seriously, I’M FINE to get behind the wheel of a car.

No weed was used in the harming of these livers.

And while I loves me my adult beverages, I also don’t really understand how alcohol is legal and pot isn’t. I mean, when was the last time someone got belligerent and violent while they were high?

The only victim here is a bag of Funyuns.

And I don’t even LIKE smoking weed that much – I’m one of those anxious pot-smokers who gets freaked out by the sound of her own voice and wants to go to bed as soon as possible – but I just don’t see the point of railing so hard against something as harmless as pot, when there are people cooking brain-sizzling meth in trailers and rotting their teeth out before they turn 21.

OK – I’m giving my inner Hippie McCottonmouth a wool poncho and a package of Oreos and telling her to shut the hell up now. Moving on.

Second up: Lars and the Real Girl

Memo to the movie industry: Slapping a mustache and a moth-eaten sweater on a Hollywood actor does not suddenly transform him into Steve Buschemi.

I really, really liked this movie. I had moments of my brain wanting to apply Reality to the story, but once I managed to resist that, I completely bought into it. Plus, Ryan Gosling’s last name is another word for cute baby goose, and I’m totally on board with that.

Never broke poor Rachel McAdams’ heart.

The third movie we watched this weekend was one we actually had to don underwear and leave the house to see: WALL-E

Pixar, are you TRYING to make me do the ugly cry?

I understand that some people think the movie is a tad preachy, and I see their point, but still, I was a little too dazed by how much I wanted to hug and squeeze and kiss and love WALL-E and raise him as my very own to really listen to what other people are saying. Plus, I think the movie’s message was an important one, and since this is essentially a children’s movie, you can’t have too soft a touch when you’re trying to make a point. After all, we’re talking about children. As in, the people who happily ingest Kid Cuisines and sometimes poop their pants at the playground. Subtlety is not their strong suit.

Re: “Fun Nuggets,” see Super High Me, above.

Also, those evil geniuses at Pixar figured out a way to make cockroaches cute. I know, I know…but seriously, they did it. Trust me. Go see the movie.

[Of course, this is also probably why I had a horrendous dream last night about decidedly UN-cute cockroaches who bit my legs until they were covered in open sores, but still.]

So, after seeing that shitheap of a film last weekend, I feel completely satisfied about going three for three this weekend. Of course, next weekend we will be visiting our families instead of watching movies, so there will be considerably less pot, sex dolls, and cute robots involved.

Kristin! Being a Jive Turkey Groupie makes you cooler than the other side of the pillow. Fact.

And also, that picture is pretty memorable. Just look at it. The girl on the left cracks my shit up every time. You just know someone ended up pregnant and passed out underneath a pool table mere hours after that photo was taken.

Congrats! Today’s post was blocked by my office’s net nanny. Apparently, even if a good portion of the content is about fuzzy baby geese and cute robots, putting sex and drugs in your title will officially get your blog labeled “adult content.”

So Brad continued to wear a bra while you removed yours? By the way, I (along with my sister, brother-in-law, and brother) watched Saved By The Bell last night. But you’ll never catch me watching Reba (my sister, on the other hand, is a fan of Reba’s show, not her singing, though).